Re the bike trio on the hills who refused to use Vertigo as bait? Well the little horrors or their breed came south to muck up the Blooms and our heads. Observing their work I pondered the toss and why the unbelievable irritation. Kid oneself not, we do succumb eventually, the lucky few, if lucky to live that long is lucky, no longer fit of limb, or lung or the vagaries of self propulsion, to the intake of macerated goo and the uptake of invalidity aids, be it be-speckled, as a spectacle, or in spectacular manner. Remembering one’s lunch and Greenwich Mean Times little nuances, help delay the process, as Black Cra may validate. To arrive succumbed, not knowing fit of limb, or lung, blinkered, helmeted and armoured against the possibilities of being is methinks a disappointment to any hungry worm expecting better. (Too little gristle, bristle and marrow for choice) To get there a decade or two, too early, is criminal. If one thinks the wanton slicing of bog an effrontery consider the waste of young legs, those bright pink bellows billowing in the fumey wake of noisy exhausts, the nimble reflexes courting the hair-breath chances of amputation, decapitation or close encounter of V. The hallowed knows what the ‘youth-too-young-to-know’, the innocent, and the ignorant don’t, that piffing in the wind gets one wet, and feels, not the slightest slight either side of the cathedral walls. Captain, they fool with our heads only because they don’t give a toss. And mountains will outstand us all in perpetuity.
What one could do again with those legs/lungs/reflexes/years.....Will they know, ever, what it is to amble, limber, climb or clamber under their own steam, sweat and glorious accomplishment, at a pace intimately attuned to the beating heart, and grounded as close as one can to our own globe, spinning in its quiet orbit then home again to Zen women? Not if Vertigo gets them first! As for remote, Wicklore, its surely at... there...where one would trade the one for the quick thrill of a noisy quad up/down an obliging land mass, to knowingly incise wounds we later fill as wormfood. Solvitur ambulando, but only, if the sweat squad remember to let us know when they intend to disarm the armed. Continued success M.V. contributors -glorious accounts!